The Need
by Insanity-Plus
Summary: The Need, a rushing tide within my ears that drives me closer and closer to the brink of madness until finally - finally - I fulfill it. Dark Fic. Hints of IchiRuki. A Bleach version of Dexter. R&R!


**This is a little something I wrote in just under six hours. I sat at my desk earlier and went like "LET'S DO THIS!" and just went at it like a madman. And now here we are!**

**This Fic, for those of you who don't know, is a kind of parody of _Dexter._ It is my favorite book series and is one of my most favorite TV shows of all time. It is about a serial killer who kills serial killers. It's fantastic and the author Jeff Lindsay is a brilliant man. I tried to emulate his writing style, but I failed miserably! But I tried and this is what came out!**

_**Warning: This Fic is very dark and should not be read by anyone who isn't ready to handle the extreme things portrayed in this story.**_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of the characters associated with the Anime/Manga. They belong to Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump Magazine. Please support the official release.**

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><p><em>-The Need-<em>

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><p>The moon. So fat and full, reddish and round and glorious. The power it emanates washes down over the Earth, spreading its influence amongst the neanderthals that lug along across this numb planet carrying their electronic toys of useless information, bringing them just a little bit closer to their basic nature. Their basic nature, which is to hunt and survive and fling poop at one another in a show of dominance. Because in the end we're all just monkeys, are we not? Hairless monkeys who walk strictly on two legs and wear pants to hide our dignity because it isn't proper to be natural in our new world. The model that is Earth is now 2.0, no longer the original version that fulfilled its purpose and nothing more. Now it does everything and more, because we as human beings don't like the basic essentials any more. We enjoy excess because we can't get enough of the new and the old is just so <em>plain<em> and it can't hold our attention any more because we've had so much of it in our early years.

But I enjoy the old. I enjoy the 1.0 version of the world, where only one thing mattered: survival. And how do you survive? You find nourishment, water, shelter, warmth. But these are just the basic essentials, what's the most important of all? In a world of predators there are many things that could end your life prematurely, and the only way to combat them is to learn to _kill_. To be able to kill brings you higher on the food chain, and the better you are at it the higher you go.

I like to think I'm at the top.

Though my methods for preforming this ancient act of mutilation are of the new 2.0 world, my reason is of old. Probably older than homosapiens. My reason is simple for why I do what I do, and it is to fill the Need.

The Need. A roaring tsunami inside of my head that screams and wails and does not let up until I satisfy it on this most holiest of nights. The moon is full, the sky is dark and perfectly cloudless, the skills needed long ago obtained, and the precautions set. All that is left that is needed is a Date to this wonderfully morbid Dance of the Macabre. But that's not too much of an issue, because I have already set my sights on a beautiful partner who would be perfect to accompany me on this moonlit night to the place where the Need shall be fulfilled.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is a fairly young, muscular man who enjoys drinking beer and getting into fights with whoever looks at him funny. He is a violent man, eager to jump into any situation fists first with a string of curses trailing after him like a cape. No one wishes to mess with him, avoiding him like the plague because they know what would happen if they breathed the air around him. This is what gives Grimmjow the discretion that helps with his rather dark hobby.

Since no one really cares to be around Grimmjow for longer than two breaths, no one has realized Grimmjow doesn't care much for regular women. Sure he gets the double-take from the occasional buxom blond, but when he's sitting in the bar drinking his poisonous alcohol and falling under the influence they warn you about in TV commercials he isn't thinking about a nice little hottie who would moan his name at night. He's thinking about something much younger than the women of his own age, much, _much_ younger.

Nine to ten is his favorite age for his women, and he seems to get a kick out the non-consensual way they make love. But of course he can't just hit it and quit it, so once the dark deed is done he likes to end things with a bang and leave the strangled child in the canal where no one dares to look for fear of coming across a nasty little creature that might eat their face off. Well they should not fear the creatures in the canal, because Grimmjow supplies them with a hefty meal every so while whenever his dark urges take over.

He's more than once tangled with the law thanks to his desires, but has always gotten off thanks to lack of evidence. He's a neat little monster, something I admire because, well, I'm also a neat little monster. And this monster's desires are much different than Grimmjow the Pedo. My desire is not for little girls, but for people like Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. And tonight Grimmjow has been found guilty for all of his crimes, and there won't be any issue with "lack of evidence" because I know, I _know_ he is guilty. I have watched him stalk the local parks and walk off with more than one little, innocent girl whose parents didn't teach her the rule about strangers who would eventually end up in the paper as a missing case. I've seen him peer through the fence at the playground with hungry eyes, mouth dry as he imagined all the little evil things he could do with the children on the slide, ignorant to his lecherous gaze as he hid in the shadows like a predator does whenever stalking a prey. Grimmjow has been found guilty in the Court of Kurosaki Ichigo, and there won't ever be an appeal because the sentence is permanent.

The moon is glowing so brightly in the sky, cascading its beautiful aura down onto the street of the bar where I watch my new dance partner. Grimmjow is already drunk, stooped over the table he sits at every night whenever he's not preforming his dark act. Tonight he is celebrating another job well done from the night before, basking in the glory of his own Need's fulfillment. But my Need is hungry, and the only thing it can stomach is the blue haired devil sitting in the bar in the exact same seat as Grimmjow.

It's half past midnight when he decides enough is enough and he stumbles out of the bar towards his car. I feel an icy calm spread through me as I watch him. The moon is so bright, washing over me as I anticipate the Time when me and my little playmate can have our Fun. It's so very soon, so very, very, very soon.

Grimmjow strongly believes in drunk driving, mostly because he's actually very good at it. So there's no hesitation as he nearly trips over his own feet making his way to his little beat up baby blue Cadillac he stole from one of the many men he has beaten in his day. No one reported it, because no one felt the need to be involved in anything that involves Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. So he got to keep his little Cadillac, and he has done well not to crash it when driving back to his crummy little apartment every night.

Well, good for him. He has a rather impressive skill, one I'm going to put to the test.

He climbs into the driver seat of his car and slams the door shut a little too hard. He flinches at the sound the door makes, either because he didn't mean to close it so hard or because the noise scared his drunken mind I don't know. He fumbles with the keys for a few seconds, jamming the correct one into the ignition to finally- _finally_- bring the car to life. And the moment finally comes when it is Time and I can act.

This is it. The moment I've been waiting for.

Grimmjow is dumbstruck when I suddenly appear in his rearview mirror and gives a wet noise of shock as I snake a loop of fifty-pound-test nylon fishing line around his neck from out of the darkness of his backseat. Grimmjow is unable to say anything as I yank on the line, making sure he knows this is really happening and is not a drunken flash of stupidity. I give him a few moments to take in the moment- this glorious, beautiful moment.

I feel _It_ rising now that the prey has been snared. _It_ has been waiting in the darkness of my psyche for this moment, counting the seconds until finally _It_ could rise up next to me in the driver's seat of this little ride. _It_ has no real name, but I fondly call _It_ Shiro. The reason behind this is because whenever I allow myself to dream- which is not often- _It_ appears to me in the form of my reflection, but all white with black and yellow eyes. I call it Shiro, because it is me but white.

"You belong to us now," We say to Grimmjow once he has sobered up enough to realize this really is real. His turquoise eyes land on our face as we speak, wide and frightful as he hears the deathly edge in our tone. He can't see our real face, only the silk material with the eyes cut out we have covering it. We don't want to be recognized by anyone who may be walking by, so we hide under our mask until we're at the right place. We ease on the noose to allow him to breathe, because he has so few breaths left so why not let him enjoy them while they last?

He wastes his first two in quick succession, gasping to retain color in his face and glare at us in the rearview mirror. "What the fuck is this? Who are you?" His voice is raw, scratchy from the pressure of the line.

"You don't ask questions," We say, again pulling on the line to accompany this statement. He gurgles, his fingers scrabbling at the fish line around his throat feebly in an attempt to be free of it. But our grip is ironclad, and his attempts are in vain.

"Start driving," We command, loosening a bit on the line again to let him breathe. "Don't say a word, or else."

He looks at us again in the mirror, and we are so close to him against the seat that we can feel the thumping of his heart and it amuses us. The thumps are numbered, and we decide when the last thump shall be. The realization of this power we have lights up in his eyes and he looks like he might say something again and we twitch the noose to remind him we hold control. He shivers in fear, and puts the car in gear and pulls away from the curb.

We steer him through the streets of _Karakura_, our lovely little home where the decrepit reign and the only thing truly fighting them is us. The police are so slackened, letting criminals go because of technicalities in court. Well that's fine, because as soon as they leave those doors of the so-called Justice House they belong to us- just as Mr. Loves Little Girls belongs to us right here and now. It is a wonderful home, one where we have settled and don't plan on ever leaving.

The house we have Grimmjow park next to is a neat little abandoned home on a corner that has been empty for a good ten years now. We have done our research, and know that the house has been condemned for mold and no one has really come around to fixing it up to be liveable. The house next to it has recently been emptied as well, but that one has a bid on it so there wasn't much time to waste to implement this stunt of ours. Tonight must be the Night, because the Need is hungry and we must feed it.

"Quickly now," We say, and he looks up at us as if we're mad- which, obviously, we are. The idea of _quickly_ to Grimmjow has faded, and he could never again perceive the concept thanks to the tight leash we have around his neck cutting off his air to lower his brain function. But we don't wait for him to try and put together the pieces of the word and we tighten the leash enough to bring darkness to his world, letting his mind fade ever so slightly to remind him that if he tries anything we won't hesitate. He scrabbles at the noose again, but soon his hands fall into his lap as we keep the tight hold around his throat. He's so close to the darkness now, but we don't let him give into it. We loosen the noose, letting him breathe once again to regain awareness.

It's a little awkward getting out of the car, but the three of us, Grimmjow, Shiro and I, manage. We shepherd Grimmjow into the kitchen of the abandoned home, letting his eyes take in the innards of the house as he enters. It is the last home he will ever live in.

Once we are safely in the kitchen, we loosen a little more on the leash, letting him breathe some more and actually let him speak.

"W-Why?" He rasps in a ruined voice. "Why are you doing this?"

We smile, even though he can't see it now. He hasn't yet figured out that we know. But he will know soon enough. But for now, he can remain in the dark.

"Why not?" We quip, and then for one final time pull hard on the fish line. His eyes bulge, making loud, wet noises as he falls to his knees and tries to break free. His face turns a purplish blue as he gurgles. We watch with satisfaction as finally his eyes close and he wheezes himself into unconsciousness. We then release him from the noose and let him sleep on the floor as we prepare.

We don't have much time before he wakes up, so we quickly run back to the car where we have hidden our toys and carry them inside to ready the area. When he awakes an hour later, he is taped naked on the island in the middle of the kitchen, his clothes having been cut away and stashed in a garbage bag we have left in the corner. His mouth has been duct taped shut to ensure he could not scream. When he comes back to the land of the awake his eyes widen in fear and they dart around the dimly lit room until they land on us.

"Sleep well?" We tease. It isn't until now we decide to remove the silken hood we have been hiding behind since the beginning. We toss it aside, letting our orange locks spread wildly over our head freely. Grimmjow takes in our face, trying to place it in his memory to see if he could remember where he has seen us before. But he hasn't. We are a stealthy creature, slithering about in the shadows of the shadows to ensure we are never seen. He doesn't remember us because we have never formally met, and he is further confused as to why this is happening.

"Look," We say, stepping aside to let him see. We have placed photos on the counter top, leaning against the cabinets to face Grimmjow in his laying position on the table. His eyes widen as he stares at the pictures, having no trouble to recognize each little innocent face of the girls he has cheated out of life. There are four of them, not counting last night's or any other we may not know of, each a picture straight from the articles online about their disappearance. True fear and understanding appears in his eyes now as he looks up at us, and we just grin at him.

"You know why now," We say. "You have committed a terrible sin, multiple times. Though, we shouldn't be talking about sins when really...we've committed quite a few ourselves." We chuckle, the combination of Shiro's and my voice pleasant to our ears.

Grimmjow struggles a little against the tape, and we shake our head at him. "Oh no, you can't go. The fun has only just started."

We turn from him, walking over to our buffet of toys to choose which one to play with first. We take one from the lineup, turning to let the knife shimmer in the light for Grimmjow to see. He gives a muffled scream at the knife, and we just grin once again.

"Come now," We pat his chest gently, comfortingly. "There's no need to be scared. It will end soon..." The knife glints once more in our hand, and we lift it high into the air above our head. "...but not _too_ soon."

And so we Dance. The light of the moon slips in through the cracks of the door and spreads through the three of us, cooling our bones and fueling the strokes of the blade as the Need is fulfilled. We play deep into the night, our joy so great we feel as if floating, floating high into the air with the wings of a demonic angel as we play God and toy with the existence of this wicked man. We bring him to the edge of oblivion, bringing upon him pain like he has never known. But we don't end him just yet, not yet. Because there is one question left to be answered to be sure that this night has not been wasted and that everything is rightly in order.

We pull away the duct tape from Grimmjow's mouth. He doesn't even flinch at the pain, because it is such a small comparison to the pain he has already been living with for so long now.

"See them?" We ask, pointing to the pictures as we grab his chin and tilt his head to see. "See what you have done?"

He just stares, unblinking and numb. Finally he nods, and we are pleased.

"You may go now,"

With one last flick of the wrist, Grimmjow is released from this world and the pain we have inflicted on him. And with him goes the rushing tide of the Need. It has been fulfilled, and now we can breathe again and relax as the rushing tide has been released from underneath our skin.

Now that the deed has been done, Shiro pulls back and sinks back down onto his perch inside of me to await the next time we play. I'm left with the cleanup, as always. But I don't mind, because I have been sated and everything is done with a euphoric kind of feel as my veins circulate with a calm only known directly after committing the deed.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is left for the alligators in the ocean, his body spread apart into a dozen or so black bags that are released into separate areas of the ocean. I ride around on my boat, _Zangetsu_, and part with the black bags, letting them sink deep under the surface of the water to never be found by anyone ever again. He joins the other thirty-two former dance partners that I have had the pleasure of waltzing with.

As I ride home, the sun beginning to rise in the background, I let my mind return to the normal, non-slasher things that take up my life. I wonder if there are any leftovers from Rukia's chocolate cake that we shared before my rendezvous with Grimmjow, because my wife makes one hell of a cake. I think about how I'm going to slip under the covers without her noticing when I return home. I ponder the excuse of having gone for a drive to help sleep should Rukia be awake when I return. I also think about my next dance partner, even though that will not be for another while. I like to be ready, because the Need can come up on me at any time, and I must fulfill the Need because it is how life is and I cannot fight it.

The Need has been sated, but I know someday soon it shall rise again and this night shall be repeated, over and over again until I die or get caught. But until then I shall roam the streets of _Karakura_, ever so watchful for the scum that inhabit them to determine which deserve my treatment the most.

_What a pleasant life I have, _I think, smiling brightly as I welcome the new day.

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><p><strong>I know! I failed so bad at trying to write like Jeff Lindsay! His work is so detailed and insightful and just...amazing. He's my favorite author, and I recommend you read <em>Darkly Dreaming Dexter<em> and the rest of the _Dexter_ series as well as watch the show!**

**If you have read the books, then you'll realize this is the same kill as in the latest novel, _Double Dexter._ Dexter kills a pedophile, Steve Valentine, in the same fashion as how Ichigo kills Grimmjow in this Fic. It's my favorite kill, so I Bleach-ed it!**

**I hope you enjoyed this deliciously dark Fic of mine! I know I usually write IchiRuki Fics, and this one really didn't have a pairing ( I threw in the little bit about Ichigo being married just to sedate my need to be IchiRuki-centric) but I hope my usual readers still enjoyed this as well!**

**REVIEW!**


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